Deep Cold
by Stuch
Summary: In Helghan's frozen, southern wastes, marines try to make the most of their situation behind enemy lines. Upsetting Helghast operations in the area and just trying to survive the planet.
1. Chapter 1

Right, first go at a multi-chapter. Set during the "six months" of the Killzone3 plot in which nothing happens, giving me free reign without playing with actual characters. Vanderburg returns from my first fanfiction "Three Weeks Ahead" (with a promotion it would seem), because I like writing him and I may make other references to his original mission on Helghan in future chapters. Although I don't see it as a continuation of that story. I'm not a huge fan of writing big action scenes, but I think a later chapter will have to incorporate something of the like. Anyway, as ever review if the need takes you.

* * *

"It's too bloody cold," the ISA trooper shivered in the snow-filled crater, "How much longer sarge?"

Vanderburg checked his watch, "Could be two minutes or it could be two hours. Crawl out and go for a little walk out of sight of the MSR, get the blood flowing eh."

"What about you?"

"Don't worry about me sunshine," the sergeant winked, "I was built for extremes." The private crawled to the rear lip of the crater, rolled himself over and slid as far down as left him confident to stand up without drawing unwanted attention. He patted the snow from his uniform and pulled down the shemagh from his face for a moment. He walked on the spot and blew fiercely into his gloved hands, the warm breath from his lungs seeped from the gaps between his fingers and hung in the air for a few seconds before it joined the freezing fog. All around him the ground was white, the sky was grey and the incessant fog just mixed the two somewhere in between.

Navigation had been near impossible, he had learned to simply walk in Sergeant Vanderburg's footprints and only asked once how he knew his way; "I remember the rocks" was the reply - the Afrikaans accent so thick and fast that it came out as one word. Ice was beginning to form on the tips of his facial whiskers so he pulled the scarf back over his face and furiously shook his limbs as though it would force blood out to his fingertips. Dust had always been the main problem on Helghan, until the marines had headed south, the cold chilled worse here than anywhere on Earth or Vekta.

Vanderburg was thinking aloud to himself when the private finally settled himself back into position with the binoculars, "What I hate most about this buggering planet is that there isn't a single tree. You just can't trust a thing like that." They watched the bridge intently, the only discernible black smudge against the grey that wasn't a rock face and the only route across the ravine for fifty clicks in either direction.

"You sure they're coming?" the private was getting agitated, clenching his hands repeatedly to stave off both the cold and his nerves.

"Yah," Vanderburg sighed, "Nobody would fly in this. Any time now four APCs will roll right past us but not make it any further south."

"You sure you used enough-"

"Charges will blow out enough structurally vital elements that the load of the vehicles will do the rest."

"What if-"

"And what if your bloody parents never met, eh?" the sergeant snapped and immediately regretted it, "Sorry kid. I know you're on edge but just trust me, right?"

The private went quiet for a little while, he was hurt but tried not to show it. After some time fiddling with the focus on his optics with no real, noticeable effect, he piped up again and tried to save a little face, "I don't like all this sneaking around and hiding is all, we should just hit them head on."

"Well," the sergeant replied as a matter of fact, "When the convoy comes you can go run at them head on and let me know how it goes." They were one hundred yards away from an apex in the road that then curved back away from them toward the bridge and to their backs was a labyrinth of of monolithic rock formations and potholes through which they could retreat in a bee-line if things went south. Beyond the road from them was rock face too high and too steep to climb, leaving the enemy with few options for cover in a firefight. The fog was a hindrance and a blessing, blurring the mid-range vision of both sides.

"Fact is, private," he continued, "The ISA can't keep swinging sledgehammers to crack nuts. It's up to us now to pick the time, place and tools for our encounters with the Helghast. We can strike them any time, anywhere and their decisions are always going to be reactionary - the very definition of guerilla combat."

The private saw where he was going with this and filled in the rest of the lecture, "So if all you need to destroy a few-"

"Four."

"Sorry, four APCs is two marines and a few pounds of explosive, why waste more?"

"That's why I chose you Walker," his blonde beard stretching with his grin, "Quick learner." Walker was surprised and turned his head over to the sergeant who didn't takes his eyes away from his watch on the bridge.

"They tell you that they chose you?" Vanderburg twiddled with the focus on his optics as the fog thinned a little, "Officers always like to make decisions but especially when they haven't decided anything at all."

"They don't trust special forces," Walker said after a while, pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut tight, "Think you have ulterior motives for joining us down here."

At this remark Sgt. Vanderburg looked over at Walker, "The officers think that or you fellas do? Don't go projecting your own worries onto them and never think they don't trust us. They just don't like us and that's because of the way we operate." They both went quiet after this, no sound but breathing and the occasional sniff or careful crunch of snow as one of them moved slightly. This was until Walker heard an echo, a slow rumble that sounded as though it was behind them. His head twisted around in a panic and he peered over the rear lip of their hideaway.

"Not that way."

"But-" his head was on a swivel and looked all round.

"Calm yourself, now is not the time to freak out on me eh?"

"How many?"

"Can't tell yet, too many echoes." They kept their eyes to the right, vigilant of the furthest visible point of the road north of the bridge. Walker was still peering into the murk, unable to see a thing when Vanderburg started counting quietly to himself.

"Five," he finished, "It would seem we have to improvise a little." Walker tensed up. He wasn't used to this - even though his cohort was calling the shots - and the tension was not helping anything. Mostly he just didn't feel safe; if things went wrong there was only the two of them for the Helghast to shoot at whereas during the invasion there had been dozens of others to choose instead of him. There in the cold though, there wasn't even the illusion of safety for him. A hand suddenly took hold of his shoulder and he jerked it away only for his sergeant to grip him by the upper arm.

"Right," he held tight as Walker tried to wriggle his way free, "Listen to me- Listen! Calm the hell down. What I need from you is a level head and no rash moves." The noise was becoming clearer, the insect-hum of the engines slowly rising to a roar. Walker swallowed hard and let out a long, steady exhale of breath before lifting back up his binoculars.

"What's the plan sergeant?"

"We blow the bridge with four front victors on in, see how the last reacts and take it from there."

They waited. In the cold, empty surroundings sound travelled fast and the noise rose and rose until Walker thought an APC was about to roll right over them. It never came and his pulse raced as the first vehicle roared into view out of the fog, he didn't panic but instead tried to process what he was seeing. The APCs had no main gun, but instead a lone pair of eyes shone dimly through the grey-white murk above the vehicle. Another appeared and another until all five were partly visible through the fog, approached the apex of the slow curve and the closest they would be to the two marines. Walker thought of his rifle lying next to him in the snow and that he should have been holding it.

"Don't," a voice was in his ear, "Just don't move."

Only after the last vehicle had crawled past them did Vanderburg reach into a pocket on his combat vest and ready the detonator. Finger steady on the switch, he whispered to Walker, "You call it. Remember, as many vehicles as possible but none can get across."

Walker watched and waited. The vehicles slowed on their approach to the bridge and he smiled to himself as they decreased their spacing. Strange, he thought, that this moment of highest tension found him at his most calm. He watched three vehicles at once; the foremost and the two furthest back. The liquid thump of his pulse in his temples became louder than the engines and he made a little sniff just as the first APC was approaching the end of the bridge. Then, absolute silence.

"Do it," he whispered.

There was no earth-shattering blast and no immense fireball erupted up and out of the ravine. In fact the sound of the charges going off was barely perceptible over the noise of engines as they chugged their way toward an unwitting end, nothing more than flat cracking sound and small puffs of displaced snow at both of the supports. Then followed the squeals of wrenching metal as the steel trusses began to sag under the now excessive load. The far end failed first, its connections sheared from the rock and the whole bridge swung downward on the hinge of the opposite end until it found a foothold once more. Four vehicles then slid into the backs of one another as Helghast infantry leaped out to the relative safety of the tarmac. The fifth, only half on, teetered between safe, solid ground and the free-swinging bridge. It tried to reverse in desperation but found no traction. Helghast poured from its rear gangplank - Walker counted six in all - before the near end of the bridge failed and the whole twisted wreck fell from view along with four vehicles and dozens of men. Thuds and crashes echoed around until silence again returned. The two marines turned their attention to the remaining troops who huddled around the last vehicle which hung impotently onto the ledge. Five pushed out and set up a makeshift perimeter whilst the last, presumably an officer, stayed with the useless shell.

"What now?" Walker's voice cracked a little with guilty excitement.

"We wait," the reply hushed him.

There came the first flakes of snowfall and the fog crept back to its former level of visual nuisance until the Helghast were reduced to hazy, dark grey blobs with a red glow that indicated their field of view. The officer left the cover of the wreck and signalled the others to join him, voices could be heard but neither man made out what was being said. "Right listen to me," Vanderburg spoke quick and quiet, "They're going to come back the way they came. I'll move up and to the right, open up on them when they reach the bend. You stay here and let rip when their focus is on me, eh?"

He had scrambled off before Walker had the chance to reply in the affirmative and left the private alone and very exposed. The Helghast started along the road toward him, one dark mass in the fog with patches of crimson that appeared and disappeared as men moved in and out of view with their marching. The intermittent footsteps played a melody over his heartbeat and one hand held the grip of his rifle to one side - he dared not take it over the lip of the crater yet. Closer and closer they came and Walker didn't take his eyes off them, not even to check if the sergeant was in position. He had more faith in him than he did himself. He drew his knees up, readied himself to move up from prone to a crouch. Then came three loud pops, followed by another three.

Vanderburg had fired two bursts, the Helghast were in disarray and brought up their weapons in his direction. Walker couldn't make out how much damage had been done already, but pushed himself up onto one knee regardless, swung his rifle up into a firing position and followed his sergeant's lead. He fired short bursts with his M82 into the dark section of fog he knew to be six Helghast soldiers. The mass flattened out with each successive burst of the marines' fire until it was spread about on the road and the spent shells melted through the snow. Walker only stopped firing when Vanderburg's muzzle flash didn't appear in the corner of his eye. He thought his heart had been pounding before but now it pumped so hard in his chest that he had trouble catching breath. He glanced over to movement and saw his sergeant break cover and slowly walk toward the (he hoped) dead enemy in the road.

"Walker!" a shout aimed at the crater, "Get your ass over here." He obeyed and half-walked, half-slid down the snow to the road. The fog focused into six dead bodies, the sergeant slung his own rifle and checked an enemy weapon.

"Doesn't even have a round in the chamber," he muttered, "Sloppy bastard, eh?" Walker only gave him half a smile at the remark, he had killed men before - wouldn't have made this fair otherwise - but they had always been shooting back and the sight of the bodies in front of him, their blood melting the snowflakes that fell into it after turning them a deep red, didn't sit well with him at all.

"This wasn't fair. Too easy."

"Christ," the sergeant went through the officer's pockets, "The sooner you get over this morale superiority the better."

"Sorry I don't enjoy this as much as you."

Vanderburg stopped and looked up at Walker, incensed. He stormed over and shoved Walker in the shoulder who fell back a few steps, dumbfounded. "Listen to me you little fucker," his accent took over and Walker only made out half of the rest, "Never think I enjoy this... my fucking job... kids telling me how to... bloody cuiter." The sergeant took a number of deep breaths and his usual, laid back charm returned. Walker simply hung his head after his chewing out.

"Sorry sarge, I didn't mean to-"

"Already forgotten," Vanderburg grinned, "We all have our ways of getting through this shit, eh? We should start back."

They made their way south, off the road and then headed east back to the makeshift ISA camp. The snowfall thickened and soon the bodies and all evidence of their actions would hidden by a thick blanket, slowing both the discovery and response of the Helghast to what had occurred. The conditions were, as ever, their greatest asset and greatest worry. "Sarge, what does cuiter mean?" the private asked after a half hour of walking in silence, "That word you called me earlier."

"You don't want to know."


	2. Chapter 2

Second chapter and a chance to flesh the whole thing about a bit; new characters and a better idea of the marines' situation. The chapter is quite dialogue heavy, but I can promise you now that the next will have a big action scene - which I am not too good at writing but people don't read Killzone fanfiction for constant talking I suppose. Anyway, reviews and constructive criticism always welcomed.

* * *

Hell frozen over. That was the pet name given to the forward operating base in the snowy wastelands by the marines stationed there. Its purpose was to upset and stall Helghast operations north of the Stahl Arms Deep South facility. The base itself was hidden away in a cave complex, naturally formed in the floor of a steep-sided glacial valley. Boulders and smaller moraine left centuries before by the glacial movements provided a natural barrier that prevented a ground vehicle from getting within five hundred yards of the entrance and no pilot of a sane disposition would dare fly in low enough to drop troops - fear of a sudden gust smashing them into the steep walls. Vanderburg and Walker reached the furthest boulder west of the entrance and the end of their five hour hump back from the bridge. Snow had built up on their heads, shoulders and traced the edges of anything protruding on their uniforms. The wind howled down the valley from the east and chilled them even further. The sergeant reached into his overcoat, flicked on his comms and put out an arm to catch Walker before he walked any further.

"Which of you lazy bastards has me in their sights?" he said, finger in his hood and to his ear. There was a short burst of static before a voice came back to him.

"Well if it isn't the Boer!"

"Decker? Shit, don't shoot!"

"Yeah yeah, very funny. I swear that kid looked like a Hig in the blizzard and his foot healed up just fine in the end."

"That poor bugger still limps about the place, you dozy jakka."

"I'm going to assume that wasn't nice and ignore it. You remember the route in or would you like me to lead you to your death?" The maze of rocks and debris was littered with mines and charges but there were two safe routes from either direction to the entrance of the base.

"I plum forgot. I'll send the private here out first and learn from his mistakes," Vanderburg joked back.

"Would be the most excitement I've had all week," Decker broke into a coughing fit and Walker didn't give the sergeant the satisfaction of replying at all, "I'll radio ahead, let them know you're coming. See you in two hours when the night shift starts and I get out of this fucking hole." Another burst of static and then nothing but wind. The two started the final stretch back to base, Walker behind his sergeant in full knowledge that veering too far off course would not end well for either of them. Twists, turns and a minute of walking back west before another u-turn brought them to the rock face. The wind and snow were getting worse as the sun (or at least the brightest patch of sky) disappeared behind the valley wall. From a hundred yards out the entrance looked little more than a darker patch of rock about ten feet squared and only when half as close again did it reveal itself as a tunnel at all.

They paused before taking the first step on solid ground and Walker beat Vanderburg to the joke, "Ladies first."

"You still don't know the way, even from here?" The tunnel dropped down at a steep gradient that meant they couldn't help but take great, heavy steps that echoed down into the bowels of the hillside. It became pitch black after about twenty yards and only once the entrance was completely out of sight were there any artificial lights put into the walls. They buzzed quietly as the two marines thumped their way up to a set of sentries resting on their haunches against the wall, behind whom lay the first of several inner chambers interlinked by passages created by millennia of water eroding through rock. It ran still, pooling in the chambers and seeping through the walls as a welcome reminder of the comparative warmth of being underground.

"Van," the left hand sentry punched him in the thigh, "How's that bridge?"

"What bridge?" came the reply with a wink.

"That's what I like to hear. Your lieutenant wants a debrief."

"He's not my CO."

The sentry shrugged, "Hey, I'm just the guard dog." They continued into the chamber which served as a makeshift mess and recreation room, only an MG placement covering the main entrance let on that this would be the setting of any 'final stand'. Marines milled about freely without their flak vests - the braver men had also ditched their overcoats. Walker stopped next the sergeant, the snow on their shoulders and heads was turning into large damp patches and drips from their hoods.

"You want me to go too?"

"Don't worry kid, you go grab some chow eh?"

Walker saluted but the sergeant just rolled his eyes and walked off toward the officers' quarters, shaking his head as he went. Stupid, thought Walker. The private was left there mid-salute and looked like a madman, sheepishly he lowered his hand and double-timed down toward the company barracks. The two largest side chambers served as bunk rooms for each of the two makeshift companies and home for the forty or so men of each. The floors were lined with overlapping tarps and the unfolded cots lined the damp walls. The rest of the floor space was dotted with tables and chairs - empty ammo crates and boxes respectively. A dozen or so men were engaged in serious procrastination, some wrestled and practised hand-to-hand with each other, others were checking their weapons and equipment. Only a handful noticed Walker coming in, fewer cared.

"Howdy," a bull of a man grabbed Walker's hand into a forced handshake, "Look who made it back alive, guys!" Because of his accent, Tex was named by the other men after a state he never knew existed, let alone visited and had been with Walker since the invasion. The remaining two members of the squad walked over and one held up two cigarettes with a face like thunder. The other pulled down Walker's hood, grabbed his head by the chin, pushing the private's mouth into a pout and twisted it violently from side to side.

"Funny," a thick, eastern-European accent muttered, "I thought there would be something left over from your trip up the sergeant's ass." All three laughed and Tex snatched at his winnings.

"Not that they're any use to me in here," he walked back to over to the table, "Jeff what else can we bet on? I need a lighter."

Corporal Jeff Mallick, a dark-haired streak of a man, sat down across from Tex, "I'm running out of shit to lose to you."

"I missed you too Vic. I'm sure the sarge will take you away soon for that alone time you so seem to crave," Walker snatched at the hand holding his face, joined the others at the table and removed his sodden overcoat, "You guys actually bet on me not coming back?" He tapped his gloved fingers on the crate and nobody would meet his gaze, a loose thread on their vest or a new drip from the ceiling became utterly enthralling to them.

"Guys!"

Victor sniffed and scratched at his scraggly, brown beard, "We heard things, about the sarge."

"Some guy over in Alpha," Jeff continued, "Told us that Vanderburg was the only survivor of his mission up north, in the desert."

Walker waited but there was nothing more, "That's it?"

Tex jumped in, banging his enormous fist on the crate, "Think about it dude, only one comes back? He got them killed!" Vanderburg had been assigned as their squad leader just a month earlier - one of three special forces operatives who were now filtered amongst the two companies - and in that time they had learnt very little about him. So naturally they made stories up and believed any rumour they heard.

"I heard he shot a Hig officer from two hundred with his side-arm."

"I heard he is a Hig undercover agent, I mean you've heard the accent."

"Word is he had a shot at Colonel Radec."

A marine piped up on his way out of the room, "I hear he's from Earth, never set foot on Vekta." This was the juiciest rumour yet and the four men chewed on it for a while before a voice stopped them dead.

"What are you shitbirds doing?" they look round to see Gunnery Sergeant Filmore in the doorway, hands on hips, "Do I stutter?"

"N-no Gunny."

"Just squaring away, Gunny."

"Walker just got back Gunny."

Gunny was a mean son-of-a-bitch, an ugly brute who shot at men in times of war and spent times of peace teaching people to shoot others, "That's real funny, because all I see is a goddamn sewing circle." His eyes dug holes into all four and Walker snapped first.

"We were just discussing the new sergeant, Gunny."

"All discussing what a fine piece of ass he is if I know you, ladies." None of them laughed - never knew what was a joke with Filmore.

"Okay, here's the news. Vanderburg and I were lance corporals together back on Vekta, same company," Gunny spilled, "And here's all you need to know; when you pussies are hiding behind cover, pissing yourself because of enemy fire. He will be on his feet, returning fire and laughing at you. That man will shame you into being a good marine." There was stunned silence and Victor opened his mouth to ask the obvious question.

"You don't know how lucky you are to have him as squad leader," Gunny closed Vic's trap, "Now are we done here? Walker get your ass up to the LT and rest of you square your shit away, major patrol tomorrow."

The officers' quarters weren't much better than the enlisted men's, but they were certainly drier and housed the battalion commander, the captains, lieutenants and gunnery sergeants as well as various other POGs. Walker stood outside, waiting and listening to the end of an argument between his squad leader and platoon commander.

"It took you an extra six hours? Your orders were to blow the bridge and get back ASAP," Lieutenant O'Brien - like Gunny - played hard ball with the men, the results varied. But it was the only consistency they had in the base.

"A new opportunity presented itself, couldn't let it go."

There was a pause before Vanderburg added, "...sir."

"And you thought it was worth putting one of my marines in danger?"

"Private Walker was never in danger, sir."

"You disobeyed my orders, sergeant."

"Your orders were based on a situation that changed, sir and I didn't disobey them. The bridge is gone."

"Don't be a wise ass with me. If you cowboys are going to stay here you need to play by our rules."

"I admit we need each other but in the field you have to extend me a little trust, sir."

"The problem is your methods, they're undisciplined and I don't need the men thinking it's always the way to go. They haven't had your training and it could get them killed."

"I understand, sir."

"Okay sergeant. Get out my sight," there was one heavy footstep before the lieutenant added, "Sergeant Vanderburg, we don't salute the man but the rank." A few more quick steps, Vanderburg appeared out of the hole in the rock and peered into Walker with his blue eyes.

"How much of that did you hear?" the sergeant grinned.

"How much of what?"

"They'll make an officer of you yet," a wink and he swaggered off.

Walker stared at his feet and scratched at the back of his head. He knew what the lieutenant was doing, making him stew outside before he called him in. He heard O'Brien cough and arrange items on the desk just inside the doorway, "Walker! You out there?" Walker quickstepped into the chamber, stood to attention in front of the lieutenant and saluted.

"Good job out there today and the sergeant spoke pretty highly of you," he began, "This should have happened after the invasion but, well, shit happens. I am promoting you to Lance Corporal."

Walker couldn't hide his smile, "Er thank you sir."

"Sadly because of the circumstances it's just ceremony," O'Brien continued, "But I wanted to know we appreciate you being here and the job you're doing."

"Umm, sir?" Walker started, "About Vanderburg."

"Sorry Walker. No time for small talk, I have a patrol tomorrow to map out," the lieutenant didn't even make eye contact, "Anything else, ask Gunny."

Lieutenant O'Brien wasn't a people person, he didn't gel with the men and he left the inter-personal skills up to Gunnery Sergeant Filmore. Which was something of a mistake. O'Brien was a tactician first and planned everything out meticulously. This meant every eventuality was planned for but in the field the lieutenant had a tendency to freeze up under pressure. Again, Gunny would pull up the slack and the men respected him for this - even took his verbal abuse with good humour because of it. Walker didn't like the idea of O'Brien leading them on a major patrol, but it wasn't his place to question such things. He was paid to follow orders, not think. He left the officers' quarters and let out a long sigh.

How could tomorrow be any more eventful?


	3. Chapter 3

"Nice day for a walk in the snow," Tex noted and shouldered his LMG. He wasn't wrong, the sun blinded them with reflected glare and the wind was non-existent. The platoon of thirteen marines - two five man squads, the lieutenant, Gunny and the company Corpsman - had marched five hours since dawn, following the shallow valley of a long frozen-over stream inland. O'Brien had briefed them before leaving but as far as the men concerned the mission was walk here and walk back, a fifty click round trip hump to check the crash site of three Intruders. The small valley was in the middle of a wider flood plain which extended a half mile or so in either direction before meeting higher climbs of rock. Up north around Pyrrhus, where rocks were at the mercy of the sand and wind, it was all round edges and multi-coloured sediments. Down there, where glaciers caused most of the erosion, the rocks were harsh, black and provided nothing but contrast against the snow.

"The one day we need the goddamn snow and fog," Jeff muttered and looked behind them, "Is the one day we leave thirteen trails of breadcrumbs."

"Start walking in my footprints," Victor laughed, "The Higs won't know you're coming!"

Every hour or so the lieutenant would halt and caused Gunny to half raise a fist and drop to one knee. In turn, the squad leaders would do the same and all twelve would get damp knees as the LT checked his map. "Christ," Vanderburg muttered, "He's checking we're still in the valley. In case we crossed some mountains without realising." After five minutes of checking the 'funny pages' and his compass the platoon would start moving again with a collective groan from the men, to which Gunny would respond with, "Suck it up ladies!"

Footstep after weary footstep took them closer to the crash site, a long abandoned petrusite mining facility that the marines had mapped out and performed recon on when the base was set up. "Don't like this," Walker mused, "Sending a platoon out this far with no ass?"

"Check it out fellas," Tex nudged Walker in the shoulder, "Walker gets himself another chevron and suddenly thinks we want to hear his tactical input. Besides, LT said we have arty if we need it." The thought of the three guns kept camouflaged away from the base didn't inspire much confidence. They hadn't fired a shot in anger since stationed there and the effects of the plummeting temparatures on the mechanisms had yet to make themselves known.

"You trust the gun bunnies?" Victor almost giggled, let his rifle hang from its harness and stretched his arms, "They haven't had anything to do because of the weather. We don't even know for sure that they even are artillery men. People show up down here all the time pretending to be from the rear with the gear." The men kept on silence for the most part but every so often a rumble of discontent would its way around.

"Sergeant," Jeff sounded like he was coming to his mother with a grazed knee, "It's cold."

"Thanks for the update on the atmospheric conditions," Vanderburg said, complete deadpan, "I'll start worrying when you stop bitching. Probably means you'll have been shot."

Gunny was suddenly amongst them, he had stopped marching, manoeuvred himself in behind Jeff and made the corporal jump, "Malick can't get shot. He doesn't have my permission to get shot. Boy, you are property of the ISA. Get shot and you will be in a world of shit. You read me son?"

"Y-y-yes Gunny."

"Secure this scuttlebutt sergeant."

"Sir."

Two clicks out from the objective, the lieutenant brought the men together and laid out their approach. "Each squad will take a flank alongside this valley," he started, "Scope the place out and note any good overwatch positions for your gunners." Tex nodded and placed one of his cigarettes to his lips, Jeff was ready with a lighter and made sure it was returned.

"Gunny and I will go with first squad," O'Brien continued, "Doc, you're with Vanderburg and second squad." The corpsman winked at the Boer. Corpsman Jim 'Doc' Hasford was an old-school, career marine who hated being called a 'medic' and once drunkenly broke an officer's nose for making the mistake. He had a dusty covering of grey hair at thirty-two but nobody mentioned it. Like Gunny and Sergeant Vanderburg, he was a veteran of the invasion of Vekta and had earned his right to be an asshole. It was a relief to have him on board though, the men looked up to him and he was as efficient in killing people as he was saving them.

"I don't know whether to laugh or cry at being stuck with you babes in the wood," Doc held their gaze as he walked over to them.

"We love you too Doc," Walker punched him the shoulder.

The platoon bisected itself out of the valley and clambered up the snowy slopes. The men of second squad spread out and headed toward the ruins of demolished concrete and snow-covered rubble that could just be made out in the distance at the base of the northern mountains. Smaller mounds and rock formations enclosed the mine and had mostly saved it from the harsh elements. O'Brien's voice came over their comms, "Two-two this two-one. Observe everything, admire nothing." Vanderburg rolled his eyes, muttered to himself and made sure the other men didn't hear him. They doubletimed in a staggered formation through the snow and kept their eyes about them, heads on a swivel.

"Hey sarge," Victor broke the silence, "Did you serve on Vekta with Gunny?" Jeff, Tex and Walker all paid attention and exchanged glances.

"That I did," was the reply, "Marines were a slightly different breed back then though."

Tex rolled his eyes, "It was two years ago."

"The two of us joined five years ago," Vanderburg turned his head and gave him a wink, "And a lot can change when there's an interplanetary invasion in that time eh?"

"Get invaded and suddenly every young man wants to be a marine," Doc had a little joke to himself, "Widens the net and makes the recruitment officer's job a whole lot easier. In times of peace the marines only get the rejects. People like Gunny and the boer here, real scumbags." They waited for the sergeant's reaction to this but he kept up his usual cheeriness.

"Real scumbags indeed," Vanderburg thought for a moment, then went and said it anyway, "Even double veterans like 'Old Man' Doc."

"You mean he fought in both invasions? Vekta and Helghan?" Walker was confused and the other men laughed at his naivety but not at the revelation.

"Forget it Walker," Tex said earnestly and put a hand on the lance corporal's shoulder, "You don't wanna know."

"That was never proved Van and you know it. Besides," the Doc had a glint in his eye, "That happened after I joined up. Before that I was just a criminal like you, you fucking moffie."

Vanderburg opened his mouth to reply but broke down in laughter at the Doc's attempt to use his slang and after he regained his composure, "I can't blame you Doc. Can't say I wouldn't have done the same thing either." This exchange had caused an uneasy silence amongst second squad; Walker was left confused and angry at nobody explaining, Tex and Jeff were simply dumbstruck at what they had heard. Only Doc and the sergeant carried on like nothing had happened, having already known the difference between the two generations of marine. Listening to your breathing and footsteps had become the main order of business and the attempt to get a good rhythm on both. The valley widened out for a stretch, sending them in a north-western direction to follow its edge. Walker started to lag behind, Doc noticed and hung back.

"I'm okay Doc, just a bit exhausted with all this on top of my hump yesterday. What was all that about before?"

"You sure?" Doc was uncharacteristically earnest but didn't answer the question, "We're almost there, just another click or so. Dig deep, kid." With this encouragement, Walker caught up with the others as they trudged through the ankle deep snow. Their route curved off to the left, took them further over from the mining complex and the going became harder. More rocks jutted out from the ground and Jeff lost his foot down a hidden pothole. They came to a crest of rock overlooking their objective and Vanderburg took out his monocular.

"Five hundred and... sixty metres," he thought out loud, "And there's one of the Intruders, one o'clock, about seven hundred out. Others can't be too far." He spotted one of the crashed vehicles at the bottom of half-demolished structure that made up one side of a central square in the complex. The other five all squinted but could make out anything amongst the white outlined debris. The crest of rock - created by a glacier moving from a bed of soft rock onto something more resilient - gently sloped down toward the mine, speckled with odd-shaped boulders and fissures in the rock that contrasted against the snow.

"Two-one, this is two-two."

"Two-two, send traffic."

"We're at an observation point six hundred metres from the site, spotted the wreckage of one Intruder a further hundred away in the central square."

"Roger that two-two, we have eyes on the square from this side too. No sign of the other wrecks."

"Two-one be advised, we're heading into the site and will leave a sniper team in overwatch on the slope."

"Roger that, we'll do the same and rendezvous with you down there. Two-one out," O'Brien's voice disappeared into the static.

Vanderburg turned to the five of them and scratched at the back of his head, "Tex, Jeff, you're going to be my eyes up here."

"Sarge," Tex took a final draw on his second cigarette, "What you thinking?"

"I'm thinking, " he turned back and pointed toward the site, "That the second we get within pissing distance of that thing a Hig is going to crawl out my ass."

Doc agreed, "Ambusher's wet dream."

Jeff jumped in and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb to his rifle, "Sarge, you want me popping some grapes from up here?"

"Only if it turns into a clusterfuck, then you can provide some precision hits and Tex can cover our retreat with his LMG."

Walker agitatedly kicked some snow, still sore from being left out, "Vic, Doc and me with you then sarge?"

"That's the plan boys. If it all goes south we get back here, spread out along this crest and hold them in the site," the mood turned tense and Vanderburg watched Tex chew on the butt of his spent cigarette, "Cheer up bokkies! That's worst-case, there might not even be a single red-eyed bastard done there." And so they quick-footed down the slope and left the two men to find themselves a vantage point on the Intruder within the rock formations. Walker bumped fists with Tex, hurried to catch up with the others and entered the outskirts of the complex.

The damage to the area was relatively recent and suggested the place had been taken out during the invasion. The burnt remains of structures hung on their steel skeletons and steel rebar reached out from the strewn concrete beams like broken fingers from shattered arms. Blast craters dotted the ground and there was even the shell of a dropship, it's insignia scarred by flame and half-hidden by snow. The marines moved slowly and crunched the snow carefully under foot. Each covered a sector of view around them and they would stop at even the slightest perception of movement. Every charred window, every hole blasted in a wall was a possible place from which a Helghast would pop up and put in a hole in one of their skulls. They spoke in hushed whispers.

"No arc towers here," Doc muttered, "The fleet rained Hell down on this shit hole."

"Check it out," Victor uncovered a Helghast helmet with his foot, "They haven't cleaned the place up since then. Fucking Higs, marines never leave a man behind." He stomped the glass out of the lenses. The silence was uneasy, one thing that the men had come to count on when out of the base was the wind to fill your ears. But then and there, each man had nothing but his own steady breathing and the thoughts and fears in his head.

"This place gives me the creeps," Walker said, nobody replied - agreement enveloped in silence - and a sudden burst of static on the comms made them all stop dead in their tracks.

"Two-two-actual, this is two-two-bravo. In position."

"Thanks for that, Jeff," Vanderburg replied, hiding the shock caused by their broadcast. They reached the outskirts of the central square, a multi-story building ran along each side and were in varying states of their inevitable collapse, and entered the southern structure through a hole blasted in the back wall of the ground floor. Finally off of the snow, their footsteps echoed off the remaining walls as they spread out across the concrete expanse of flooring and checked corners along with any vantage points. Part of the second floor had given way and made for a treacherous route upstairs and Doc had to grab Victor's combat vest to stop him falling backward. The roof was all but gone and left the second floor open to the elements. They pushed out over the snow again and took up positions along the half-destroyed wall overlooking the square.

All three wrecks could now be spotted and the Intruders had carved great, deep gashes in the paving slabs of the square before they had come to a halt. The first, the vehicle spotted by the sergeant from the crest of rock, had ended up with its nose in the bottom floor of the western-most building and had brought down some of the two floors above that. Another had taken out the statue in the middle of the quadrangle, left a bare plinth with a misleading plaque and smashed through its surrounding, chest-high wall. The vehicle itself lay on its side just outside the northern building, having dragged some of the wall with it. The third was below them and appeared to have pinballed its way into the square of the east and then south building before it came to a rest along the wall underneath them. There was no sign of survivors and the wrecks were as sprinkled with snow as the structures.

"How long ago did they crash?" Walker asked.

"Yesterday according to intel," Doc answered and adjusted his gloves.

"Bullshit, these things have been here longer. Days at least," Victor coughed.

"Don't get your broekies in a twist," Vanderburg calmly mocked before he added, "Knickers, panties, whatever."

A crackle from the comms, "Two-two, this is two-one, come back."

"Two-one, send it."

"Be advised, we are in the eastern building, ground floor. Have visual?"

Vanderburg looked right to see O'Brien waving from the rubble diagonally opposite, "Have eyes on, you see what we're seeing sir?"

"They didn't crash yesterday."

"Aye sir."

"First squad will push out and check the wreckage, keep your eyes open."

The echoes of Gunny's orders reached their ears and five marines appeared from the debris of the eastern building and rushed out into the open. "Walker, west building. Doc, north-west corner. Vic, north building," Vanderburg was met with three replies of 'sarge' and he watched the gap between the north and eastern buildings. One of the men from first squad ran south and Walker peered over the edge of the shattered concrete to watch him clamber over the Intruder and check the cockpit.

"Walker, watch your bloody sector," the sergeant was tense, his usual chirpiness put to one side and this worried Walker more than anything else about the situation.

"Two-two-actual, this is two-bravo," Jeff came over the net, his voice cracked with nerves, "I don't know what you guys are doing in there but be advised, movement to your north-west. A company sized force moving into the area from the rock formations one a half clicks out." A pause, "Two, I say again, two companies. Forty plus foot-mobiles moving in on you."

"Copy that Jeff. Keep us posted," Vanderburg replied before he shouted, "Doc! Walker!"

"Nothing yet sarge!"

"Two-one be advised, overwatch has spotted forty-plus foot-mobiles to the north-west."

"Copy that."

"First squad! On the CO!" Gunny yelled, "Lock and load, marines!" The men on the ground rejoined the lieutenant in the centre of the square and set up around the destroyed statue behind the partly demolished, chest-high wall.

"You heard the man," Vanderburg relayed to his squad, each man checked his weapon and chambered a round.

"Movement!" Doc yelled, "My eleven! Six... a dozen Higs entering the north building! Vic!"

"I tally," Vic replied "Half on the ground, half on the first floor!"

"A dozen more into the west building!"

Walker had them, "I see them! Spreading themselves along the walls!"

"Two-one be advised, a company has split itself between buildings to your nine and your twelve," Vanderburg warned O'Brien.

"Roger that sergeant."

"Two-two-bravo, gimme a sitrep Jeff."

"One company has entered the square, sarge. The other is hanging back. Request permiss-"

"Not yet corporal," Vanderburg interrupted, "Only fire on any bastard who tries to get into our building."

"Copy that sarge."

The marines were outnumbered almost three to one and only half were in a dependable firing position. Walker couldn't help but take his eyes off the Helghast movements to check on O'Brien who managed to hold his composure for now. Must've planned for this, Walker thought, we've been in worse situations before. O'Brien looked up, met Walker's gaze, pointed two fingers at his own eyes and then to the west building. Walker shook his head, went back to scanning his sector and spoke to himself, "Just do your own job Walker, let the CO worry about his."

"Two-two, this is two-one," O'Brien remained calm on the comms, "Sergeant we're in the killzone here. First squad will begin a phased withdrawal to the floor below you. Suppressing fire on my order. General suppression of targets until then at your discretion. How copy?"

"Solid copy, sir."

* * *

I know I promised action in this chapter, but it just didn't feel right. I needed a detailed set-up and it wouldn't have done it justice to rush into the shooting and death. Better to have a nice little cliff-hanger right on the edge of mayhem and then drop you right in it in the next chapter - which is currently half finished. So rest easy. Let me know what you guys think of the military jargon and slang. I think it adds a lot of authenticity to the proceedings and the way these men would probably talk and act. I'm using wikipedia lists of both US Marine Corps and South-African slang for reference. And my knowledge of the radio chatter I am not ashamed to say is lifted almost entirely from the TV show 'Generation Kill' and several military books I have read. Anyway, let me know what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

Stalemate. If it was an ambush meant to kill the ISA off with the element of surprise then the enemy had already failed. Each man held his respective cover, watched his sector and tried to cover two targets at once. Nobody wanted to be the first to fire but more importantly nobody wanted to be the first to get hit. Gunnery Sergeant Filmore cracked first under the pressure, popped up from behind the wall around the destroyed statue and took aim at a Helghast on the second floor of the north building.

"Contact front!" he yelled and let off a three-round burst of fire from his M82. The first bullet struck the wall that obscured the grunt from the waist down and sent out a puff of dust. The second impacted on the soldier's chest, punched through the armour, knocked him off balance and a squirt of blood ran down his stomach. The third, fatal round went through the neck and travelled diagonally upward into the lower brain. Gunny had opened the floodgates and ducked back down behind the wall in a cloud of dust as the other Helghast around the casualty let rip on his position. "You like that!" Gunny was hysterical, "You red-eyed bastards!"

The enemy let their anger get the better of them as their comrade bled out over the concrete floor and they emptied full magazines at Gunny. Rounds fell short, flew wide or just burrowed impotently into the wall. The Helghast to the west fired indiscriminately at first squad who were hunkered down in the square. "Second squad!" a shout from Vanderburg, "Draw fire from the west! Give them less to worry about! Walker! Doc! Upper floor! Vic with me on the lower!" The marines replied with staggered but sustained fire on targets to the left and soon the Helghast attention to turned to their position. Rounds skipped past their ears or over their heads and many more disappeared into clouds of concrete dust.

Two Helghast focused their fire on Walker, who fell to his rear, back to the wall and chunks of concrete bounced off his helmet. After checking his weapon, he looked over at the rest of the squad. Doc and Walker were on one knee, eyes down their rifles as they jolted in their hands. Vanderburg was on his feet and enjoyed the perks of presenting the hardest target for the enemy to the west. The marines all had their movements and weapon procedures drilled into them from day one, so that when thing turned bad they would carry them out without thinking. But to Walker, the sergeant was a marvel to watch. Walker remembered his gun had jammed on him during the invasion, the situation around him turning to Hell and all he could do was look down uselessly at the round stuck in the chamber. He went through the process of removing it as methodically as he had done the first time he was taught in basic, even nodded to himself as he reached a logical checkpoint. So he watch slack-jawed as Vanderburg's M82 jammed on him.

In one fluid sequence, the sergeant lowered his rifle, removed the magazine and held it in his other hand holding the rifle's grip. The now free hand cocked the weapon, caught the round as it was ejected, replaced the magazine and let the bolt chamber another round. He pushed the weapon tight into his shoulder, fired, adjusted his aim and fired again. Walker heard a horrific, bloody gargle and the bullets stopped pumping into the wall he hid behind. "You're welcome," the sergeant hollered, "Just start shooting again, eh?" Spurred on, Walker poked his head back to find two less targets on the upper western floor and set about suppressing the remaining enemy.

There came an almighty, hoarse scream from Gunny down below them. "Jones! Smythe! Haughton! On my go!" a pause from his voice but the orchestra of gunfire continued, "Suppressing!"

"Suppressing fire!" echoed Vanderburg and there was an explosion of marine fire on the Helghast positions. Three marines of first squad heaved themselves over the intact southern section of the wall and sprinted into the building below second squad.

"LT! In position!" their yells echoed up to Walker's ears. The lieutenant and Gunny were now alone in the central square, pinned down but they returned fire wherever possible. The Helghast responded to this partial ISA retreat and the soldiers from the lower, northern floor headed east, stopping to trade fire with the marines to their south. Vanderburg spotted this movement and turned his rifle to the space between the north and east buildings and anticipated their sprint across. The four remaining Helghast dashed across the rubble one at a time and the sergeant let off round after single round at them. He caught the first in the shoulder, who spun violently and collapsed. The second made it unscathed to the wall, peeked round the corner and provided cover for the two others left to run. This would have been fine if the third Helghast hadn't tripped over his injured squad mate and got a round in his skull for the trouble. Covering fire forced Vanderburg to duck down as the fourth enemy made it across the gap to the other building.

"Two-one, be advised that two Higs just made it into the structure at your three," Vanderburg squawked over the net, "They are boxing you in sir, make your move."

"Roger that," O'Brien put his hand on Gunny's shoulder who stopped firing to listen, "We've got to move, Gunny."

"Marines!" Gunny looked south, "Suppressing fire!" A volley of bullets riddled Helghast positions and the few that remained able to return fire were unable to land a hit on either the lieutenant or his sergeant as they broke cover to the wall. Even when O'Brien struggled as he climbed over and Gunny had to give him a little extra encouragement with both hands. They landed with a painful bump and heard the thuds of bullets in the concrete behind. The lieutenant hesitated, but Gunny whacked his hand a few times on O'Brien's helmet and they bolted to the relative safety of the south building.

"Two-two, this is two... this is two-one," O'Brien was breathless, but an unmistakable excitement was in his voice, "Get second squad down here, let's discuss our next move."

They could hear Gunny down below, "I just love this fucking shit! Balls to the fucking wall!" Doc rolled his eyes at Walker and motioned downstairs with a smile.

"Walker!" Vanderburg paused, bullets zipped and pinged, "Go!"

"Moving!" When Walker made it to the slope the sergeant continued.

"Doc! Go!"

"Moving!"

"Vic! Go!"

"Moving!" Vanderburg peered over the wall, took one last single shot at a Helghast in the building across the square, missed and shrugged. He double-timed it to the collapsed floor and slid down using one hand for balance. On the floor below he found the lieutenant, Gunny and first squad's sergeant engaged in discussion whilst the other five marines held watch on the windows and other gaps in the building's cover. Sporadic gunfire punctuated and interrupted conversation, dust hung in the air and caught the streams of sunlight through every hole. Gunny grinned and rubbed his cold hands, he itched for more combat. O'Brien kept his head and turned to Vanderburg.

"Sergeant, give me your take on this."

"I think the Higs aren't even trying sir. No grenades? No RPGs?" he scratched at his beard, "And there's the whole other company hanging. It bloody stinks."

Sergeant Haughton had been a lance corporal when he left Vekta and earned his stripes during the invasion. He had the men's respect for being from their ranks and never forgot what it was like being a baseline grunt. He gave his take, "They want us to run sir, follow us back to base for the bigger prize. Higs don't normally fight like pussies, taking cover like this."

"Right, but if we stay here for long enough they'll eith-" O'Brien was silenced by the cracking echoes of gunfire, "Either kill or capture us. We need a plan."

Vanderburg dropped to his haunches and motioned the lieutenant for his map, "We give them what they want. Pull back to the ridge, hold them in the compound and-"

Gunny finished his sentence, "And shell the fuck outta them."

"Two-two-bravo, come back to me Jeff," Vanderburg was on his comms.

"I'm here sarge. Actually, stand by..." Jeff didn't turn his radio off again, "Yeah there he is again Tex, peeking round the door."

Tex could be overheard, "Doorway, east building, ground floor, four hundred and twenty metres, wind no value. Have target?"

"On target."

"Fire." There was a loud snap as the round from Jeff's rifle reached the Helghast trying to flank into the marines' hideaway, struck him in the side between the front and back armour plating and ruptured his abdomen. The sound of the gunshot reached the Helghast's dead ears moments later.

"Two-two-actual, sergeant be advised that I just stopped a gatecrasher," Jeff said and Tex chuckled in the background.

"Two-two-bravo, we need you to spook the reserve Helghast company. Get them to enter the buildings."

"You sure sarge? That's a lot of Higs."

"We don't plan on staying, tell Tex to get ready to cover our retreat, out."

O'Brien radioed his own overwatch pair and filled them in on the plan before he said, "Sergeant, radio."

"Sir," Haughton replied, "Smythe! Radio!"

An eager, wide-eyed teen hurried over and knelt next to the lieutenant, facing outward. O'Brien grabbed a receiver from the private's kit and clicked it into blinking, beeping life. "Mailman, mailman this is Hammer-two-actual. Come back," they waited, nothing but the hiss of static.

"Fucking gun bunnies," Victor muttered, spat and reloaded his weapon.

O'Brien tried again, "Mailman, mailm-"

"Hammer-two-actual, this is mailman. Send traffic," the voice came back, calm as you please.

The lieutenant took the map back from the boer, "Requesting fire mission at papa, alpha, golf, three, six, niner, four, one. Forty foot-mobiles in hard cover." The artillery read the co-ordinates back to him like repeating a pizza order. "Solid copy mailman. Hold on this fire mission until I radio back."

"Copy hammer-two-actual, standing by."

There came through the cold air a steady, rhythmic beat of high-powered rifle gunshots as Jeff picked off targets from the other Helghast company. He was on the net, "Two-two-actual, I have those Higs bugging out. Shot anybody who received a salute and they are moving into the complex for cover."

"Roger that Jeff,"Vanderburg said before adding, "Hold fire, only engage targets who head back out west. Make them think it's safe in there."

"Copy, out."

"Right," O'Brien clapped his hands and rubbed them together, "Let's get out of here."

"Marines!" Gunny still rode the crest of his combat high, "We are oscar-fucking-mike." The men left the north wall, headed over to the opposite side and checked their weapons, reloading where necessary. There were mutters and moans about turning tail from a fight, six hundred or so metres to the ridge and forty-odd Helghast breathing down their neck. "Vic!" Gunny pointed a stubby finger, "I will be watching your lazy ass! You move and move most ricky-tick! You read me! And that goes for the rest of you fucknuts!"

"First squad!" O'Brien started out into the cold air and over the snow-sprinkled rubble, "On me!" They headed off in a south-easterly direction, but not before Gunny gave Victor a look of cold, hard steel.

"Second squad!" Vanderburg echoed the lieutenant's volume and tone, "Move!" Back the way they came, they bounded over the strewn concrete, twisted metal and moved through buildings as cover where possible - their heavy strides bounced back to them from the semi-demolished walls. None looked back to see the Helghast take the south building, the zips and cracks of bullets that fell wastefully into the ground around them was all the situational awareness they needed. Walker brought up the rear and focused on his feet instead of the bullets and made sure they were doing what the body required. His right arm suddenly jerked upward, his shoulder rolled forward with it and forced him to let go of his rifle, which then hung free on its harness.

He let out a howl as a searing pain shot up his arm and his hand went dead, "Corpsman! I'm hit!"

Doc turned and sprinted back to Walker, "Unless it's in your leg, I'm inclined not to give a shit and you're still bitching, which is always a positive sign. Keep moving!" Walker gritted his teeth, grabbed his weapon with his free arm, held it against his chest and tried to ignore the throbbing ache in his upper arm with each swing. Vanderburg reached the furthest out remains of the mining complex and crouched behind cover. He was joined quickly by Victor and the two yelled at Doc and Walker to 'hurry their asses up'. With Doc's encouragement Walker made it to cover, "He's hit. Gimme a minute to check him over."

"Two-two-bravo," the sergeant reached Jeff, "You got a visual on us?"

"Roger that, sarge. We have eyes on, why the stop? The Higs are moving out in your direction."

"Walker is hit, we need some time. Suppress, draw fire, whatever you can."

"Copy, out." There came, from a small collection of boulders about one hundred metres south of second squad's position, a succession of muzzles flashes followed closely by hollow, echoed cracks. Tex had opened up on the Helghast attempting to move out through the buildings and rubble. Walker looked out and counted the flashes until Doc shook his shoulders violently. "You with me, kid?" fingers snapped in front of his face and he focused on Doc's piercing glare, "There he is!"

"Hey Doc, I got shot" Walker slurred as he grinned and motioned with his chin to his right arm, "See?" Pain coursed throughout his body as Doc grabbed his forearm, moved it around - testing the joints and muscles - and checked the wound.

"In and out," Doc sighed, "Well that saves us digging around for a bullet in there. I'll stop the bleeding and then we can start running again." Walker nodded slowly, realised what the corpsman was saying and then shook his head instead. "Christ, don't pull this mickey-mouse shit with me now! You will run or I will leave you for the Higs."

Vanderburg walked over and crouched in front of Walker, hand on his left shoulder, "What's the matter? We not paying you enough attention so you jumped in the path of a bullet to be a hero eh? You silly jakka." Doc squeezed a compress onto the wound whilst the sergeant distracted Walker who let out a small anguished groan punctuated with an expletive. He got to his feet though and joined the other three in the dash to Jeff and Tex's entrenched position. Enemy fire became less and less of a worry the further from the ruins they reached, Tex and the gunner from first squad had the desired effect and all but halted the Helghast advance with sustained machine gun fire. Vanderburg turned and paced backward for a spell, watched the enemy through his monocular and ignored the rounds that fell helplessly twenty or so feet ahead of him - his sustained confidence in the gravity of Helghan was rewarded.

"Hey there sergeant," Jeff grinned, "I'm still cold." Vanderburg's reply was drowned out by Tex's LMG but they could all guess. Crouched amongst the rocks they waited for word from the lieutenant. Victor shuffled over to Walker and prodded him in the wounded arm with an index finger, who responded with a swing of his free arm and a fist that struck Victor in the stomach.

Victor coughed, "Glad you're okay buddy." Walker smiled weakly and tried to clench his fingers again, they wouldn't respond. Vic saw the dismay on his friend's face, "Don't worry about it, that doesn't mean shit." Walker looked up at him, didn't believe but nodded anyway.

"Two-two, this is two-one. We have met up with our sniper team on the slope, over."

"Roger that sir, we are in position on this side. Walker's hit, he can't shoot but still good on his feet. I make it another hundred and fifty back to the ridge. Orders sir?"

O'Brien had a small coughing fit before he replied, "Pull your team back and spread them out along the ridge. Walker can hold back with me and Smythe as we call in the fire mission."

"Solid copy sir, out. Okay guys, to the ridge. Walker you mean, green marine it's the home stretch eh? Just a little bit further and the LT will hide you away from any more bullets." The Helghast were working forward against Tex's suppressing fire, more and more rounds pinged off the surrounding rocks or hissed above their heads. Moving to behind some proper, solid cover sounded like a good move. "Move marines, move!" The six men sprinted the rest of the way and didn't allow themselves to move ahead of Walker who wanted nothing more than the men to leave him there so he couldn't slow them down any further. He panted up the to the crest of the ridge and stood for a moment, contrasted between the blue sky and white ground. The others joined him and they all turned to look back at the ruined, decrepit facility.

The Helghast crawled through the ruined structures like ants and swarmed in small groups before separating again in their movements. "Two-two, this is two-one," O'Brien called out, "At your six." Vanderburg spun to find the lieutenant and Gunny as they double-checked the map and calculations for the artillery. First squad was spread out to the east behind the crest, completely unscathed - something Walker couldn't help but notice. "How about you guys get down on the deck and stop ruining the our retreat?" O'Brien held a serious face for a second before he let out the briefest of smiles at the ragtag band of men who made up the platoon's second squad, "Walker, how you holding up? Get down here and rest yourself. That's an order."

Gunny had calmed, but he could still dish out the orders, "Smythe! Your ass, here, now!" The private stumbled down the steeper south side of the ridge, nearly lost his footing but arrived as ordered and the LT took his radio once more.

"Mailman, this is hammer-two-actual."

"Hammer-two-actual, mailman is standing by."

"Mailman, danger-close fire mission on grid papa, alpha, golf, three, six, niner, four, one. Forty foot-mobiles. Request high explosive and mike-546 beehive rounds. Fire for effect." The marines pricked up their ears at the mention of 'beehive rounds', even Gunny raised an eyebrow. The effectiveness of a weapon is measured in how long it remains unaltered and the 'beehive' round had gone mostly unchanged since its first use in the conflicts back on Earth in the mid-twentieth century. Although many technical advancements in the artillery weapon and fuse mechanisms of the shells had come and gone it kept its general purpose, which was to drop ten thousand metal darts over an area determined by the altitude of detonation. The darts carried the nickname of 'fleshette' and a few beehive rounds could bring a whole battalion to its knees. On Earth they were deemed illegal in 2048 after their use became widespread in built-up, urban areas but on Helghan, the ISA and UCA turned a blind eye.

"Roger hammer-two-actual. Danger-close fire mission on pre-chosen grid square. Three guns, one round hotel-echo and one round mike-546 each. Will fire for effect. Mailman awaiting order." The marines waited and watched intently their platoon commander. Every second he spent agonising over whether or not it was the right thing to do brought the enemy closer to their position and out of the area of effect of the artillery.

"Mailman, send package."

"Roger, hammer-two-actual. Package ou-" the 'gun bunny' was drowned out by three separate blasts, one second apart and there was a pause, "Hammer-two-actual... five seconds to splash down."

"Five seconds!" O'Brien screamed. The marines lay flat against the crest and peeked over the top. Unaware black specks continued to move toward them, a few had made it to the outskirts but most hung back in the scattered buildings. There came a dull whistle over their heads and the first shell landed just south of the central square, the cloud of dust was a little underwhelming until the blast reached their ears, a loud crack followed by a hollow boom. One second later the next round hit the western building of the square dead on and it disappeared from view in another mass of dust and chunks of snow-covered rock. The final shell landed amongst a loose gathering of enemy troops further south of a the square and scattered them through force and fear. After the third blast came the eerie silence - shock followed by the awe.

"Hammer-two-actual, second volley out. Five seconds." Originally, the beehive rounds had timed, mechanical fuses and it was another calculation for the artillery man to work out. The shells the marines used on Helghan were far more advanced, mid-flight it would scan the battlefield beneath it for enemy and calculate the most efficient (lethal) altitude and angle of detonation. There was a small burst of debris above the mining complex and thousands of metal darts rained down on the scattered Helghast positions. An area the size of two football fields disappeared in a fog of churned up snow and dust which quickly resettled to the ground. Another two such shells detonated over two similar areas further south, the second of which was close enough for the marines to see its effects. Helghast knocked down who didn't get back up and after only a little wait areas of blood could be seen to spread over the snow from their lifeless lumps of metal-ridden flesh. Doc let out a low whistle, everyone else nodded slowly in agreement.

The thirteen marines stood up along the ridge and waited for signs of survivors. Walker had his arm in a sling fashioned from his shemagh and said what they were all thinking, "What now?" And they to the lieutenant who just stared down at the dozens of dead Helghast and weighed his guilt. Vanderburg sidled up to him and put his hand on the lieutenant's shoulder.

"Sir," the sergeant waited for him to turn his head before he continued, "You gotta get these bastards back to the base eh? I'll hang back for a few hours, make sure you're not followed."

"Agreed, sergeant," O'Brien gave the boer a smile, "Gunny, get the men moving. Doc, you're second squad leader" Vanderburg strode over to Walker and punched him playfully in the good shoulder.

"I'll check in on you when I get back, kid." The men left Sergeant Vanderburg to hide himself on the ridge, they walked in silence and processed the day's events.

* * *

Okay, these things are just getting longer and longer. Action is annoying for me to write because there is just so much going on at once. But I still tried to get a little bit of character in their too. Apologies for the big waits between chapters, it's down to the way I write them and work is being a real slave master lately. So if you lovely people could let me know what you think of it. Am I going too far with the jargon? I dunno. Anyway, this is still a blast to write and I have ideas for taking it somewhere dark in the next chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

"Well this was a good idea," Sergeant Vanderburg muttered to himself. Three hours since the rest of the platoon had headed back to base and he had found himself a concealed fissure in the rock slope than ran down to the petrusite mining facility. It had begun to snow and there hadn't been any movement within the complex during his watch. He sat, still and crouched, amongst the sharp edges of rock and gathered himself a thin white layer. His plan had been to wait until visibility became bad enough that he could no longer see the decaying structures anymore, or more importantly that no enemy in the facility could see him. The snow was a good start and he hoped it would bring with it the lower-lying cloud that would condense further and spread out into fog. He checked his watch - the cold air seized the opportunity of new exposed skin - if he hoped to get back to the FOB before darkness fell he would have to make his move within two hours or so. He performed mental exercises to stay alert. Counting mostly. Windows, Helghast bodies, snowflakes that landed on his nose. Anything to take away the monotony of staring through a monocular for the enemy movement he had convinced himself was never going to materialise.

After some time, the fog rolled in from the surrounding hillsides and crept amongst rocks toward the demolished buildings. It first gave them a hazy backdrop before it appeared to slowly swallow and obscure them from view. Only once the fog had fully settled itself into the glacial valley did Vanderburg haul himself out of his hiding place with cold, stiff muscles and let out a short groan of exertion. He searched his combat vest for the remains of the ration he had taken with him that day and ripped open the packaging on a high-energy, military-grade poundcake. It had the taste and texture of bread left out in stale air for a day but after three months of nothing else, you can pretend anything is a banquet. He held the cake and wrapper in his teeth whilst he tried to get the blood flowing again; swung his arms above his head and gently shifted his weight back and forth between his boots. Once his feet had gotten used to the idea of walking again and there was nothing left to eat but crumbs in his beard he prepared for the long slog 'home'. He pulled his scarf up over his facial hair and nose and his hood as far down as it would allow. Sleeves were tucked into gloves and trouser legs into boots - no opening could be left open for the cold air to make its entrance. A weapon and equipment check, safety on and a round in the chamber of his M82. But yet, he didn't start walking.

Instead he looked out into the fog toward the mining complex, its rubble and half-standing walls like dark, damp patches in the air and knew this was a chance to gather intelligence. His natural desire for self-preservation was outweighed by his curiosity. "What the hell," he said quietly to himself, "I've got time to spare." The snow and dust crunched underfoot as he made his way slowly down to an area he had retreated from only a few hours earlier. The flakes had increased in size, without the wind they fell steadily downward and gave the lumps of concrete a fresh dusting. The artillery had shaken up the rubble and fresh collapses were occasionally reaching the sergeant's ears. They would cause him to stop dead in his tracks and scan the surrounding area. The other difference between this and his last visit to the area were the Helghast corpses. Their bodies broken and slumped into uncomfortable positions, crimson light shone no more from their eyes. The sergeant heightened his guard as he found the bodies more frequently and with fresher blood, frozen solid in the fresh snow. As he walked, he swung his view back and forth through one hundred and eighty degrees and his rifle trailed loosely behind his line of sight. His weapon was hot; round in the chamber and safety off. Every so often he would do a full, circular sweep of his surroundings and walked backwards as he made sure he was not being followed.

He found a corpse with a different insignia to others on its helmet which he recognised as designating an officer. From a distance and partially outlined by snow, he would have been forgiven for thinking the officer had been taking a quick breather, the body lay on its right side with the head rested gently on a small rock, but the closer he got stepped toward it, the more of the truth revealed itself. Safety back on and his rifle slung, Vanderburg knelt next to the dead Helghast. The right side of the helmet was smashed at the point of contact with the rock and the arms weren't in a natural position. The left was stretched out behind the body and rested on the limits of the elbow joint. The other was half trapped beneath the body and twisted just a little too far, broken from the fall. Vanderburg turned the corpse onto its back with a shove to the left shoulder and there came the sound of cracks as ice formed between plates of armour was cracked and separated. The amour itself was a mess, the corpse's chest torn up and riddled with fleshettes from one of the beehive rounds. There was crusty, frozen blood where the vest was punctured deeply by the steel darts.

The body was stiff right through thanks to a mix of the biting cold and rigor mortis and the sergeant struggled to check the pockets and pouches of the uniform. Maps, a personal letter, an amount of useless ammunition (a different calibre to that of his M82) and a sealed envelope. Unable to read the Helghan alphabet, Vanderburg pocketed this along with the maps and returned the personal letter to where he found it.

A sound? An echo. The sergeant stopped dead on one knee and slowly reached for his weapon whilst staring at the dead officer. When he had hold of the rifle's grip without a bullet in his head, he carefully clicked off the safety. The sound played out again but he was ready for it this time and heard it as a footstep, laboured on loose rubble and it was followed by the sound of a person collapsing echoed indoors. He scanned around him for surviving structures, peering through the thick fog and two buildings loomed at his ten and eleven o'clock some twenty metres apart and fifty metres out from his position. He didn't move at first, worried of eyes watching from the fog and tried to make out windows and any other vantage points. Their came the hollow thud of echoed footsteps, they sounded forced and staggered. Couldn't make out which building they came from.

"Now or never eh?" he whispered to himself, to the dead Helghast at his feet. He sprinted to the closer building, careful not to kick any rubble or make any more noise than the crunching of snow and dust underfoot. There was no fear, he had accepted long ago the idea of being shot at any second and if anything he was always safer when moving. He reached the nearest corner of the building and backed against it, catching his breath. The cold air stung his throat and he stifled the urge to cough violently. He peered around the corner and half-expected a bullet to take out a chunk of concrete in front of his nose. A sigh of relief and he moved toward a ground floor entrance, careful to duck under windows and other holes from varied ordnance. He stopped at the near side of the entrance and a took number of deep breaths.

One foot inside the doorway. Eyes on the far right corner, far left and no movement in his peripheral vision. Building was clear. The stairs up to the first floor were laid flat on the ground like a jagged, metallic set of teeth that had separated from the roof. Vanderburg silently tread across the floor to a window on the right hand wall, weapon poised and jerking between two extremes of his narrow arc of vision. Edge of the window, with his weapon pointed to the floor the sergeant looked out toward the other building. Through the fog he could make out displaced snow that lead into a hole punctured in wall by a grenade. "Gotcha," Vanderburg smiled to himself and checked the windows of the upper floor before he quietly retraced his steps outside. He stopped at the corner before the space between the structures, peered, checked and then followed the recent trail of footprints that had been dragged through the snow. A bloody hand-print added to the scorch marks around the entrance and he took a deep breath once more as he stepped inside.

Not so simple this time. Two rows of five pillars ran the length of the floor, each more than wide enough to conceal a man and pockmarked with bullet-holes and shrapnel - the scars on some were deep enough to reveal the steel reinforcements. The sergeant hugged the wall to his right, sidestepped his way to the near corner and silently prowled down the length of the room. He looked out across the floor at a forty-five degree angle to his movement and his eyes darted left as he passed each pillar. First, clear. Second, clear. He paused briefly as his ear picked up heavy, mask-assisted breathing and continued. Third, clear. Fourth set, far pillar, not clear.

Ten metres away, the Helghast was slumped, back against the pillar and looked over his right shoulder at Sergeant Vanderburg. The breathing was erratic, laboured and the mask couldn't have been helping. His right boot slid as he tried to get some footing and steady himself to get up but the other leg, lame and useless, held him down. The left arm was stretched over his body and held a pistol at the ISA marine. It rose and fell with the breathing but jerked quickly from side to side from the strain of the uncomfortable position. The right hand held tightly onto his chest and blood seeped through the fingers.

Vanderburg had his rifle's stock tight in his shoulder and the Helghast helmet in the sight, "Drop the gun, eh?"

"Or else what?" the metallic, English accent was barked back and the pistol shook with each syllable.

"Look at you shaking all over the place," Vanderburg quipped, taking a chance with mockery, "You're bosbefok man; shell-shocked. You'll shoot, miss and then I will kill you." He slowly moved toward the injured Helghast, whose helmet and visor grew larger in his sights.

"Stay back!" the voice cracked with panic and the sergeant stopped his movement. He kept the rifle in his shoulder with his right hand on the grip and with his left lowered his scarf and pulled back his hood. The blonde hair was a matted mess on his head and the beard was a wire-brush tangle. "I mean it! I'll pull the trigger!" The marine edged ever closer once more until he could have reached out and touched the pistol, all the while the Helghast threatened and blustered.

"Here is what is going to happen," Vanderburg's blue eyes didn't break contact with the Helghast, "I am going to take hold of the gun by the barrel. First, you'll take your finger off the trigger then let go completely." And despite constant, verbal protests to the opposite that is exactly what the Helghast grunt did. Once he had the pistol the sergeant slung his rifle, removed the cylindrical magazine from below the barrel and ejected the round from the chamber. He pocketed the magazine, picked up the round and held it in one hand. The now useless side-arm was handed back to grunt, who threw it off to a dark corner in disgust.

"You dare mock me?" the Helghast winced at the pain the throw caused in his chest.

"I dare," Vanderburg lowered to his haunches, "Level with me; you're scared shitless. How old are you kid?" The helmet twitched in his direction at the last utterance and grunt's free hand clenched into a fist. There was too long a pause before the Helghast's reply that gave the sergeant his answer.

"Old enough to kill you!"

"And yet," the marine held his arms out to his sides, palms upward, "Here I am."

The young grunt's head slumped and he took his hand from his chest to look at the blood that webbed between his fingers, "I'm a goner. You might as well kill me, mate."

"I'm not your mate," Vanderburg grinned and let out a short snort of laughter, "And you are going to die but I'm not going to kill you." There was a long pause between the two soldiers as the sergeant let this brief vision of the future sink in. The Helghast put his right hand back on his chest, a finger filling the hole in a dam, and started beating his left fist on the concrete floor. The dull thuds echoed softly against the walls but the cry on anguish he let out bounced numerous times.

"Nineteen," he muttered after he regained some composure, his anger had dissipated with something that resembled pride in its place.

"I could probably have guessed."

"My name-" the grunt had a short coughing fit and wheezed within the mask, "My name is-"

"Your name doesn't matter," the grin had gone and the blue eyes seem to stare straight through the Helghast into the concrete pillar, "Who your father was? Doesn't matter. Visari's words? Don't matter. All the things you thought mattered? Right now, here, none of it matters because in a few hours, when the sun goes down, you will freeze to death." The eyes focused back onto the red lenses for those last five words and the young soldier knew that he meant it.

"So shoot me," it was nothing more than a whisper, almost a plea.

"No," Vanderburg was incredulous, amazed that a 'Hig' would resort so quickly to this.

"Kill me so that I die with honour at the hands of my sworn enemy," the young man tried to straighten himself up, make this sound as regal as was possible.

"A letter will be sent home to your mother saying just that, don't you worry," Vanderburg knew he'd already gone too far. Why not just go all the way? Right over the edge. Perhaps he'd never get another opportunity like this, a chance to tell a Helghast what he really saw the score between them as being. This... boy would now bear the brunt of Sergeant Vanderburg's evangelic apathy toward an entire race of people. He knelt there, staring at an artificial face - teenager hidden behind the façade of a soldier.

"I will have died doing what I was chosen to do!" words were blurted now, the original fervour had returned but it no longer rang as true, "I don't fear it."

"Exactly!" the sergeant was excited, exuberant at the chance to discuss their differences, "You were chosen and_ told_ you were a soldier."

"I was chosen," their came a singly, dry laugh from the mask, "You are just Vektan Army scum!"

"Army?" Vanderburg smirked, "Shit. I'm a _marine _but I can forgive you not knowing the difference. And no, I wasn't chosen. But you really have to wonder what sort of man chooses to put himself in a situation like this."

"Why are you here then if you had the choice?"

"Because here I get paid to do the same things that would land me in prison back on Vekta," he scratched his beard.

The grunt almost laughed, "I don't think you're getting paid just now."

The sergeant was speechless for a moment, "Gotta admit, you got me there."

A realisation from the young Helghast, "You enjoy this. You get a kick out of it."

"Ha!" Vanderburg's mind turned to Walker, "A kid in my squad accused me of the same thing only yesterday. You remind me of him eh?"

"And?"

"And I nearly floored the poor bugger," he laughed as he remembered, "Told him I didn't enjoy all this, lied to his face."

"Why lie to him?"

"He looks up to me, stupid kid. But you? Dead men deserve the truth." Another pause as the wind outside began to pick up, a resumption of Helghan's usual weather conditions. Snowflakes blew in through the windows and floated between them for a moment. "And as much I would enjoy putting a bullet in your skull, I know that leaving you here would be worse."

"Please," the Helghast pleaded with him.

"Forget it . You are going to die and you are going to be alone when it happens," the marine ran a hand through his hair and then searched his pockets for a smoke - perhaps the rarest resource on Helghan, "No cause and no comrades by your side. They already left you." He smiled as he put the cigarette to his lips and patted around his vest for a light.

"They're coming back!"

"Would you?" he let out a long sigh as he realised he had no lighter and the cigarette was carefully stowed away once more.

The Helghast was resorting to type now and shook with rage inside his uniform, "You'll die here! You'll never make it off Helghan! No ISA will survive!"

Vanderburg nodded, "No doubt about that. But we'll all outlive you, I promise you that much, eh." He checked his watch, got up to his feet and swung his rifle back into his hands.

"No! No! Wait! Please!" the Helghast reached with both hands to his neck and feverishly removed his helmet and mask. He looked younger than his supposed nineteen years and was fortunate to have retained a full head of short, black hair. His eyes were red with tears and he had only the beginnings of facial hair. Vanderburg was unaffected by his youthful appearance and turned to leave him to his fate. The Helghast dove at the marine, his right hand smeared blood on the ankle of the ISA uniform, "Don't leave me here! I beg of you! Show mercy!"

"Mercy?" Vanderburg shook off the boy from his legs and strode past the rows of concrete pillars toward the grenade-formed hole in the wall, "You just don't get it." He stopped just before exposure to the elements and pulled up his scarf and down his hood. He considered taking one last look at the Helghast who sobbed and bled out on the floor behind him, but didn't and wandered out into the newly hostile elements. Soon the fog and wind and snow had swallowed the building once more behind him and the grunt he left to die faded with it. Out of the mining facility he trudged and over the long-hardened lava flow back toward base.

* * *

Quick thanks to Voccio who suggested this chapter follow Sergeant Vanderburg instead of sticking with Walker as it had been in the other chapters. But I think this worked out well and we all get to know something about the sergeant that others don't - namely that he is something of a psychopath. I don't think I have ever re-written something as many times as the dialogue in this chapter. The first time around he killed the Helghast to put him out of his misery. Of course it could still be better, but there came a point where I had to actually post it instead of rewriting it for eternity.


	6. Chapter 6

"Make a fist," Doc Hasford said, a hypodermic syringe held in his teeth and Walker tried so hard that his whole arm shook, but nothing, "That's good, kid. You didn't seen that?"

"Don't bullshit me, doc," Walker sat on a collapsible canvas chair in the base's medical bay - another damp recess in the rock around the outside of the main messs/rec area - whilst Doc stood beside him, checking the bandage around the wound.

"Forget the fist," Doc knelt next to Walker and took the needle out of his teeth, "Focus on the index finger instead." It moved no more than a quarter of an inch toward his palm but the lance corporal was overjoyed. "Told ya," he added, "The bullet disrupted a lot of the connections with nerves in your hand but nothing too permanent I think. I can't promise a full return of dexterity."

"As long as I can pull a trigger again," Walker grinned from ear to ear and scarcely listened to what the corpsman was telling him, "It still hurts like a bitch though."

"That's what this is for," Doc held up the needle before plunging it carefully into Walker's forearm, "I'll change the dressing and you can get some sleep here." He motioned over to the stretcher that has been padded out into a makeshift bunk. Walker flinched at the shot and nodded to Doc. There was a sharp pang of pain as the bandage was removed from his upper arm and Walker stared intently at the wound. A deep hole of flesh that revealed muscle and tendons, blood seeped slowly and the Doc wiped it carefully with a swab before squeezing on a new compress. After the whole thing was wrapped in a fresh bandage Walker rose unsteadily to his feet, staggered over to the cot and collapsed in a drug-induced stupor.

As he waited for the inevitable slide into unconsciousness, he saw a marine nervously stoop through the entrance and motion toward the bunk as he spoke to Doc, "Corpsman can we talk? I mean... privately."

Doc let out a little groan at the sight of the man, "Brauner? Again? Sure private, Walker here will be out like a light any second now. What's on your mind?" The two men and the room itself blurred and spun as the tranquilisers kicked in and Walker drifted off into a coma-like sleep.

He dreamt of Helghan - as he invariably did these days - of pink clouded skies that would seep blood red and acid rain that seared his skin as readily as it corroded the statues of Visari. Of course he dreamt of the Helghast. Of grotesque, red-eyed and blood soaked grunts marching up to his face, plunging combat knives into his guts and drifting away from him again to watch him bleed. He would look down at the protruding handles, attempt and fail to remove them before looking back up again to find the Helghast gone, to find Helgahn gone. To find himself under the blue skies of Vekta, under the white ceilings of his childhood home. His mother would glide out of the next room, stop short of an embrace and look down at his hands. Taking hold of his wrists, she would lift his arms to show the blood dripping from his fingertips and shake her head at him. Tears began to form in her eyes, "What did you do with my son?" But the dream would never let him reply. There would be a flash and then all-encompassing flame would lick and tear at the two of them.

He came to shivering and shaking in the cot. Disorientated, groggy and with jerked movements he attempted to sit up but was forced back down by a flat palm that leant heavily on his chest. "Calm down eh?" there came a familiar voice from a blurred silhouette as Walker flailed his limbs, "Stop bloody squirming! Doc!"

"Hold him," Hasford leaped from his seat behind the desk and took hold of Walker's ankles as Vanderburg held his wrists, "Walke- Walker! Calm down kid! Come on, it was just a dream." Walker eventually submitted and lay on the bunk dripping with sweat and panted heavily. The two men holding him down loosened their grip and sat back away from the young man.

"The... nuke," he managed to get the words out and puffed out his cheeks in an effort to control his breathing.

"Only dream I ever have," Doc muttered, "Sometimes it gets me, other times I get to watch the Higs burn."

Walker sat up with his back to the wall and tried to focus on Vanderburg, "Sergeant? When did you get back? How long have I been out?"

"Six hours," Doc replied.

"Yeah kid," Vanderburg grinned, blue eyes shone, "I work faster without your ass to worry about. How's the arm?"

"Getting there. Doc reckons I'll get full use back in it."

"No promises," the corpsman pointed at him, "Zero guarantees and all kinds of small print on my professional opinion."

Vanderburg sighed and rolled his eyes for Walker's benefit, "Yeah yeah, Jim. We get it. Oh, I got you something." The sergeant rooted around, produced the unspent side-arm bullet from a pouch on his coat and tossed it to Doc.

Hasford rolled it between his thumb and forefinger for a few seconds before he smirked, "You specials and your games. Even the Shadow Marshalls don't play like that anymore." The two veteran marines laughed.

"Straphanging with you fucks has left me bored and old habits die hard," Vanderburg winked and Walker was left bemused as he added, "Besides those Marshalls are glory-hunting bastards. All night-vision and silent insertions, useless in a fire-fight. All ISA should be grunts first." The corpsman nodded sagely and tossed the bullet over to Walker.

"Here, you keep this," he smiled, "You'll know the sergeant here really trusts you when he tells you where he got it."

"What does he mean?" Walker turned to his squad leader.

"Forget it," he glared over at Doc, "He's just messing with you. And gimme that." The bullet was tucked back away in his pocket once more whilst the two veterans stared uneasily as each other. Walker, as ever, was left in the dark. The sergeant then got to his feet, "Well I have to go see a man about a dog. I'll see you when Hasford here sets you free, eh?" And he ducked out of the room. Walker sat perplexed and shook his head slowly. He then focused his attention back on his right hand and the ever decreasing gap between his thumb and index finger.

"Things would be a lot easier," Doc eventually walked over to his desk and perched himself on its edge, "If you stopped thinking of him as your friend."

The lance corporal winced with sustained effort that brought his two digits no closer, "But we get on and he picked me for that bridge mission."

"That man is not a people person," Doc gestured with hands as though framing some 'big picture', "None of the special forces guys here are. They're disconnected from us, even from each other. We all just got lucky enough to find ourselves shooting in the same direction they are." Walker didn't like what was being said but still had the need to learn everything he could about the sergeant. "And any help he offers you; encouragement, training or advice? Is first and foremost for his own benefit or survival.

Walker thought back to the occasions on which the sergeant had snapped at him and to the revelation that he had been a criminal before joining the marines, "He's nuts?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Doc was back on his feet again and tidied his tiny office space, "But he is certainly a little... unhinged. Though it seems to be serving him perfectly well in the current situation." Walker went quiet and sullen. He admired Sgt. Vanderbug certainly, that much was clear to anyone, but had done so for what he thought had been loyalty and his cool head when under fire. To be told that he was perhaps mistaken in this was a shock but also a betrayal. He wanted to confront the sergeant, his left hand tightened to a fist and he didn't even notice all the fingers on his right make the journey halfway to doing the same.

"Doc," he spoke softly, "Can I get out of here now?"

Hasford saw his intent, "I'm not keeping you. But if you go talk to Vanderburg about this he will just laugh at you. I haven't told you anything he wouldn't have told you himself had you found the balls to ask him sooner."

Lance Corporal Walker rose from the cot to his feet and stormed out of the medical bay, incensed. He wanted to let all this out somehow, to just pummel something or someone. How he saw it, the only way off this planet was to stick together. The men here at the base needed to stick together and the ISA forced scattered across the continent needed to stick together too - albeit more loosely. To only care for your own safety was to fly in the face of this and give in to the Helghast, he thought. Shaking his head, he headed for the company barracks and passed within earshot of the room the three special forces operatives had made their own. There came laughter from within and Walker nearly marched straight inside to demand what they were finding so hilarious. Instead he continued on to the barracks, ignored greetings from his squad-mates and fell on his bunk. He allowed his mind to drown in thought before he drifted into an agitated, dreamless sleep.

He awoke later with an audible groan and an ache in his right arm that throbbed between bearable and excruciating. Instinctively he tried to move his fingers and found and affirming amount of movement had returned to them. "Look who's up," Jeff muttered from the ammo-crate table nearest Walker's bunk, "You still in a bitchy mood?"

"Huh?"

Tex looked up from the playing cards held between his enormous fingers and eye-balled Jeff, "You came stomping in here and went straight to bed without so much as a 'hello'. If I was a pussy you might have hurt my feelings." They spoke without looking at him and he sat up on his bunk, stretching his back with an expression of pain on his face.

"I'm sorry guys," he said eventually, "Just really needed some rest."

"Next time," Tex looked over from their game and grinned, "You can cover your own retreat." He broke into laughter at his own joke.

"He thought we were actually mad?" Jeff was bemused, "You okay?"

Walker rubbed his face with his good hand, "Yeah, just something Doc was sayin-"

He was cut off mid-sentence by a loud crack, a noise they all instinctively recognised but hoped to never hear within the walls. Each man reached for his weapon. It echoed several times and only when it went silent and then were pretty sure this wasn't to be followed by more, they looked at each other and gave an impromptu sit-rep.

"Side-arm?"

"M4 revolver?"

"Negligent discharge?"

"Shut up and listen!"

There were several voices now, mostly marines from other rooms loudly demanding to know 'what the fuck' was going on. But there was one sound that they all picked out. A wailing sob, an almost animal-like, low-pitched scream that repeated itself over and over, "Oh shit! Oh fuck! Oh shit!..."

* * *

Well! My plan is to wrap this whole thing up in the next chapter but I wanted to get this one out before I take a few days visiting family. I should though have plenty of time to get some more writing done. I have also finished the first chapter of my next story, so that is ready to go the moment I finish this one (I hate overlapping them). Anyway, reviews, reviews. Because how else do I know how well I am doing?


	7. Chapter 7

Major Barnett - the base's battalion commander - was just slightly too fat for his armour and when wearing it he would make constant adjustments, as though the mere accumulation of them was enough to fix the problem. Aside from his rank it was the main reason he spent most of the time in the base. He had been second in command of an artillery battalion to a lieutenant colonel during the invasion and found himself the head of a ragtag battalion of infantry marines only three weeks after the death of Visari. Not everybody agreed with all the decisions he made but they all accepted that somebody had to make them, and that he stopped it from being anyone else. The day following the incident the men were gathered in the mess hall, scattered across the varying gradients of rock in as close to a formation as was possible awaiting an announcement from him. Except for those on guard duty and, Walker noticed, the special forces operatives (light and shadow danced on the entrance to their digs). The major stood in front of them and scratched the bald spot at the back of his thinning head, he then scratched the centre of chest or would move his weight between his feet. He did anything other than read the piece of paper he held by his side, anything other than tell the men what they already knew. The only sounds were those of humming lights, dripping water and the odd, stifled cough. He glanced to the sheet and then back to the men.

"I think-" the major paused for a moment, fumbled with the paper and cleared his throat, "I think we all know that there was an accident yesterday in the battalion head, for which one our brothers paid the highest price of all. Firstly I should stress that there was zero Helghast involvement in this. From what we can gather there was either a misfire or a negligent discharge of an M4 revolver side-arm, which was found to have belong to the deceased, one Private Brauman. There were no witnesses and..." It was all bullshit, he knew it and those listening knew it too. He stopped reading, glanced again at the sheet and swallowed before continuing. "I know that with no witnesses, rumours will be running amok and hopefully this list of what is known will put an end to them." More bullshit. It was piling up fast and he knew it was only a matter of time before one of the marines voiced his opinion.

He scrunched up the piece of paper and tossed it over his shoulder before he spoke freely, "Okay, I will level with you men. The kid killed himself and procedure stipulates that if there is any doubt of this, as in this case since nobody actually saw him do it, it is my duty suggest every other possible option. But we are all so far outside of the realms of usual procedure here that none of that seems relevant. The little bastard when into the toilets, took his side-arm out of its holster and blew his brains out. No suicide note, no final words to his squadmates, not a damn thing. And in doing so he has endangered every man in this base." Whispers slipped and slid through the men in the form of small, contained games of Chinese Whispers.

"No more time will spent on this selfish fuck," the major grew in stature, finally able to voice his true opinion on the matter, "No minutes of silence or vigils will be held and life will continue on as normal. Any man who has a problem with this can take it up with me personally at a future point, although I promise nothing." Glances were exchanged, most were shocked by this honesty and many were nodding in agreement. Mutters of 'pussy' and 'chicken shit' could be heard amongst the enlisted personnel. "We need to work together to get off this stinking rock, not shooting ourselves in the damn head. Now we all have shit to do, get to it." He sauntered off, prodding at his bald spot and most of the men followed his order almost immediately. Walker stood where he was for a moment and looked around for someone to share an agreeable not with. The major's words had added to his pre-existing belief of the mindset he needed to get through all this and get back to Vekta.

He hadn't known the private who, the day before, reasoned that the only way off Helghan was a bullet in his own skull. Private Brauner had been visiting Doc Hasford on a nearly weekly basis according to Jeff since his own company corpsman had long given up on him. After the event Doc had broken his doctor/patient confidentiality since he was the only one keeping up his end and had started talking loudly about the kid's problems; complaining of sleepless nights and horrid dreams or the poor conditions and feeling trapped. "The same problems the rest of us are having," Doc had ranted, "But you don't see us whining like motherfuckers about them." The private's leaking, twitchy corpse was found by his platoon commander who had been walking past the 'restroom' and heard the gunshot. He had started screaming uncontrollably at the discovery and spent the following twelve hours under sedation in the medical bay and woke up thinking it had all been a dream - he took the news a little better the second time. He was present for the major's speech but nobody held it against him for not really paying attention.

How a man reacted to the news depended on how well he knew Private Brauner and wasn't as if any of them hadn't seen what a high velocity bullet would do to a person's head. A Helghast was different, with or without the helmet they wouldn't give it a second thought and some would even make jokes about it. Horror stories about men in other units were closer to home and they would be discussed in hushed tones with reverence. These deaths served as quiet reminder of what could happen and were a lot harder to laugh off, even though some would attempt to. But someone in your unit? A guy you saw almost everyday even if only out of the corner of your eye was a much harder thing to swallow. Again, Walker didn't know the deceased personally but he had spoken with him briefly on occasion or shared tips on keeping your weapon clean in the dusty environments of Helghan. Not that he was upset, it was just odd to think he would never see him again. It never got any easier and as time went on there was only going to be less and less of them.

Walker thought about it all, mulled it around in his mind, again told himself that his thinking was right and weighed up confronting his squad leader about the situation. Confronting? He lied to himself in thinking it would be a confrontation. He still looked up to Sergeant Vanderburg and after everything he heard or pieced together himself yearned to hear his thoughts on the events of the last twenty four hours. He wandered shyly over to the entrance to the SF digs and stood in the doorway waiting to be noticed.

Vanderburg sat at an ammo crate with a brutish looking man that Walker recognised as being Decker - he spent most of his time in the base on guard duty - cropped dark hair and the inevitable beard that 'undisciplined' soldiers seemed to carry with them at all times. The third man in the room was Sergeant Childes, he had dark skin with wide, expressionless eyes and his short hair was starting to turn grey. He sat on what was presumably his own bunk with a stripped down M82 and was cleaning each part in turn before replacing it back next to the others. He was the only one of the three who watched Walker standing the door, intently eyeing him with rhythmic motions of the oily rag in hand. Walker got the impression from Childes that if the gun were assembled things might be different. "Can I help you?" Childes drawled and put down the freshly cleaned bolt before pointing at the bandage on Walker's arm, "You shoot yourself too?"

"We already told the major," Decker had lifted his eyes, fingertips still held onto a bishop as he decided if this was the right move to make, "We ain't going to his speech." Walker realised that they hadn't a clue who he was, that Vanderburg - with his back to the door - had never so much as mentioned him in conversation outside of the patrols and operations they had been on together. Had he even been telling the truth when he said he had picked Walker for the mission at the bridge? The boer swivelled his head round from the game and grinned at Walker.

"Decker you put that bishop there and you're only two moves from losing the queen ," he said, staring at Walker and quickly changed his tone before adding, "Walker! How's the arm boet?"

"Boet?"

"Dude, friend, buddy," Childes muttered from the corner, "You get used to his bullshit."

"Oh, right," Walker fumbled his words, "Yeah, I should be able to grip a rifle again soon."

"That's good kid," Vanderburg turned back to the game and his voice trailed off, "Real good..."

Walker still hovered at the doorway, the atmosphere inside was less than inviting, "I didn't see you guys out there earlier."

"Why bother?" Childes looked down the stripped barrel of his rifle, "None of us knew him."

"You were his bloody squad leader!" Decker laughed, put his bishop back to its original position and thought of a new move.

"I didn't say I wasn't," a smirked retort, "Just that none of us knew him."

"Can't go crying over each and every death," Vanderburg stared at Decker, awaiting his move with folded arms, "We're all going to die here eventually." This quip brought Walker into the room and he sat on one of the spare bunks. Childes watched him but the others didn't look away from their game.

"What?" he tried his best to keep his anger tucked away inside him, "We are getting off Helghan, we just need to wait long enough."

The three men didn't stifle their open laughter at him, even the stone-faced Childes broke into a broad grin at Walker's naivety, "Yeah. We'll just steal ourselves a dropship."

"Just fly that thing up to a cruiser and take it back to Vekta," Decker continued the mocking and made flying motions with an outstretched palm, "Shit boys! I think we have a fool-proof plan here. Details? Who needs details?"

"Walker," Vanderburg was the only one who gave a serious answer, "The only way off of this rock is another full-scale ISA invasion and I don't see one of those happening for a while eh?"

"So what?" Walker stared at his boots, "We can't win?"

"Childes," Vanderburg beckoned, "Toss me that book you have." Walker had only seen two paper books in his whole life, finding one still in print on Vekta - let alone Helghan - was a tall order. Childes walked over with it whilst Decker shared what he considered knowledge with Walker.

"You have to give up on something that will never happen," he mused, "The way things are going here at the base? I don't think we have another two months. They _will _find out where we are eventually."

"Here it is," Vanderburg held the book open with one hand and read aloud, "'We must believe, through and through, that there was no victory except to go down into death fighting and crying for failure itself, calling in excess of despair to Omnipotence to strike harder, that by His very striking He might temper our tortured selves into the weapon of His ruin.' Which, if you ignore the God stuff, is a pretty good description of our fucked-up situation here."

"You should have seen how happy he was when he found it- hey careful!" Childes saw Vanderburg crease the book's spine, "That's one of the only copies left outside a library!"

"The point is we aren't chasing victory here, only putting off our eventual defeat," Decker moved the bishop back again and let go of the piece, "I'm calling your bluff on that queen."

"Like Decker here," Vanderburg grinned, "That move was his best one but he knows I'll win eventually. There's a difference between giving up and accepting your fate."

"And Brauner?" Walker wanted to know that his death could have been avoided.

"He did both," Childes tone was unsettling to Walker, "I guess he didn't see the difference between a Helghast bullet and his own."

"What if," Walker hesitated with the question he didn't want to know the answer to, "What if I'd gotten it worse yesterday? Got zapped?"

Vanderburg looked at him, "Then Decker and me might have gotten our game finished yesterday instead of now." Walker couldn't help but be hurt by this and try as he might he couldn't let it not show on his face. "Sorry kid, that's how it has to be. We're all living on borrowed time and better yours gets used up than mine." All the things Doc had told him were true, all the things he had thought himself were true.

"Once you accept you're a dead man," Decker looked up from the chess board, "You'll be a much better soldier." Walker got to his feet and looked to Vanderburg for one last shred of humanity, one more chance for the sergeant to stand up for him against these two. But it never came and Vanderburg's attention went back to the monochromatic war on the ammo crate. So Walker turned his back on his squad leader and plodded his way back to the door.

"Come back any time!" Childes forced enthusiasm and gave a sarcastic wave, "We do _love_ getting visitors."

Vanderburg spoke without turning, "Patrol tomorrow kid. You're only coming if Doc says your arm could manage it."

Walker's mind burned with more questions than answers as he left the special forces' room but one thing was clear to him. If he ever got off this planet and if he ever made it back to his home and his family, he was leaving the army. He went to his bunk and sat there for hours, staring at the ceiling and thinking about what the three 'dead men' had said to him.

* * *

Well, there we have it. I thought when I started this that the story was going to be about Walker but it grew out of my control to be about Vanderburg instead which I think works a lot better. I couldn't help putting in a little jab at the ludicrous nature of KZ3's ending. It had be a cynical, downbeat ending. That was never in any doubt - to end it on some kind of high point would have been a massive u-turn in terms of tone. And sorry if this is rushed as hell. I've been writing it all week and not wanting to do it at any point. I normally write it all out on paper first and then rewrite it when it comes to put it on here but this one I have just been putting straight into the keyboard and I think it shows. I just wanted to end this one so that I can get onto my next story, of which I have already gotten two chapters down on paper.


End file.
